(Untitled), by Amy Friedman

Vickie cut her eyes toward Roberta’s desk. As usual, it was pristine – swabbed clean, all papers tucked nicely into file folders, tape dispenser, stapler and phone set out in an attractive formation. Shifting her eyes back to her own desk, she sighed in despair. Scattered papers threatened to overwhelm the left side, while the right side brimmed with coffee cups, fruit, utensils, water bottles, napkins and other food paraphernalia. Fortunately, the orchid had sprouted a single purple bloom, which made Vickie smile. Still, the article that wouldn’t die was up on her screen, refusing to ease into completion. Not good.


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